D.D. closed her eyes. "All right, cut to the chase."
Bobby shrugged. "There was nothing the police could do. They had no description of the man, and in regard to Annabelle, they didn't have a crime. It's '82, before the anti-stalking laws. They revisit Annabelle's school, interrogating bus drivers, janitors, male teachers, anyone who's come into contact with Annabelle and therefore might have formed an 'attachment' to her. They work the scene in Mrs. Watts's house. Initial examination of evidence doesn't yield prints, doesn't yield much of anything. The detectives spin their wheels searching for a vagrant/pedophile who's partial to stalking little girls and living in old ladies' attics. They visited mental health institutes, soup kitchens, the usual roundup of perverts. It was all local knowledge in those days, and it doesn't get them anywhere.
"In the meantime Mr. Granger goes nuts. Accuses the cops of not caring. Accuses his neighbors of knowingly harboring perverts. Accuses the DA of single-handedly being responsible for the future murder of Granger's seven-year-old daughter. Then one day the cops return to the Granger residence for a follow-up interview, and no one's there. A week later, the DA gets a call from Mr. Granger announcing that since the Commonwealth of Massachusetts refused to protect his daughter, he's moved. Granger hangs up before anyone can ask him any questions, and that's it. The department steps up patrols of the neighborhood for a week or two, but nothing's seen or reported again. And the case dies a natural death, the way these things do."
"Wait a minute. Where's that damn list again? Okay, according to what we learned today, Dori Petracelli went missing November twelve, just weeks after all this happened. Shouldn't that have raised a few brows?"
"Dori didn't disappear from her house. She vanished when she was visiting her grandparents out in Lawrence. Different jurisdiction, different circumstances. Looks like the Lawrence department asked for a copy of the police report for the unknown subject in Geraldine Watts's house, but nothing came of it. Remember—no prints, no detailed physical description in the file. I think Lawrence gave the Granger incidents a cursory glance, and then, realizing there wasn't anything solid there to sink their teeth into, focused their attention on their own case."
D.D. sat back. "Shit. You're thinking Annabelle was the real target, Dori the consolation prize."
"Something like that."
"Where does that leave us?"
"Twenty-five years wiser. Look." Bobby leaned back, tucked his hands behind his head. "I don't want to criticize Stan-n-Dan. I went through their report, and they gave Mr. Granger more time than a lot of officers would. I think what hurt them, however, was that they weren't hunters. They went up in that attic, they saw a nest. Once it got that term, everyone else saw a nest as well, and that, coupled with the description of the guy as 'disheveled,' led all the investigators down a certain path. It's one of the reasons this case didn't seem to connect strongly to Dori Petracelli. According to reports, Dori's abductor was driving a white van. But no one thought of the Peeping Tom on Annabelle's street as owning a vehicle, as having those kinds of resources."
"They were chasing a homeless man, someone mentally ill."
"Exactly. But when I look at the scene in the attic, I don't see a vagrant seeking shelter. From a sniper's perspective, this was a hunting blind. Think of the vantage point—three stories up and directly across the street from the target. Guy's got cover over his head, a sleeping bag for comfort, snacks in case he gets a little hungry, and a bucket for bodily functions. It's perfect. Hunting is about waiting. This guy had come up with the perfect setup to wait a very long time."
"Premeditated," D.D. said softly.
"Calculated," Bobby clarified. "Clever. This guy, the Peeping Tom, he'd done it before."
"Maybe five other times?"
"Yeah." Bobby nodded quietly "Maybe. My two cents—Annabelle Granger was targeted by a sophisticated pedophile who had probably already abducted at least one other girl by this time. And if Annabelle's father hadn't proved to be such a paranoid little shit, it would be her body down there in that pit, not Dori Petracelli's. Annabelle Granger got away. Dori wasn't so lucky"
D.D. rubbed her face. "We're sure this is 1982? There is absolutely, positively no chance that every single investigator involved got the date wrong?"
"It was 1982."
"And you're sure—absolutely positively sure—that Richard Umbrio was already incarcerated in Walpole at this time?"